The Words 'I Love You'
by ROGfan
Summary: She needs to talk to him, he needs to talk to her. And the truth finally, finally comes out.  A sequel to 'A Dilemma, Named Rose' and 'A DoctorShaped Problem'.
1. It's The Simple Things

The Doctor is restless, and has been since they re-entered the Vortex after sending Cassandra to die (he hopes he'll never come into contact with her again; it's unlikely, given what he and Rose have seen happen to Chip, but he's seen enough in his time to never assume that anything is gone for good) – so restless that he's spent most of the last week fixing things in the TARDIS that weren't actually broken to start with. Anything, anything at all, to keep his mind busy and focussed on something other than Rose. Why? Since his regeneration (and especially since the Cassandra episode) he's noticed a burning urge to touch Rose constantly, for any and no reason, just to have the physical contact with her; his utter obsession with her is mushrooming out of his control into a completely intolerable need.

He gets the feeling that if something doesn't happen soon to sort out the tension between himself and Rose he might just end up spontaneously combusting into his Eleventh self, and that would _really_ put the kibosh on anything happening. She has barely accepted that he is still her blue-eyed Doctor; he would do anything for her not to have to go through that trauma again any time soon. Quite apart from that, it's pretty certain that she would probably literally kill him again if he did; he is quite attached to his body this time 'round.

He knows that if how he's feeling about her is this obvious to him then it is almost certain to be at least as obvious to her; the last thing he wants to do is scare her off by coming on too strong. It isn't as if "clueless human" is a title that's easily foisted on her, after all - unlike certain others he can think of. (It's completely unsurprising when he finds Mickey Smith's name topping the list of several names that spring immediately to mind.)

_Rassilon, you need to get a grip on yourself, not to mention stop being jealous of somebody who is absolutely no threat to anything between you and Rose. It isn't as if she hasn't chosen you, repeatedly, when given the option. Time spent worrying about Mickey is, frankly, time wasted that could be better spent with Rose._

He has also noticed that he's having a lot of trouble dragging (and keeping) his eyes off her; he'd happily spend all day looking at and talking to her, which in itself is something out-of-the-ordinary for him. Today he's caught himself sneaking looks at her every five minutes or so; thankfully, as far as he can see from this side of the TARDIS, she's still oblivious though. For the minute, at least, he cannot quite decide whether this upsets him.

"_Rose_."

He whispers her name so quietly that she finds herself having to strain her ears in order to hear, but it's not so much what he is saying as the expression on his face that has her completely captivated. It is painfully obvious to her that he is refusing to touch her in any way for some unknown reasons of his own, which she can't argue with because she doesn't know what they are. What she _can_ argue against (and indeed she is considering doing so) is the fact that it's blatantly obvious that he desperately, desperately wants to.

She takes a step towards him, and then another, until she's as close to him as she can possibly be without either of them touching the other before she looks at him again. Opening her mouth to speak - intending to say something, ask what was going on, _anything_ really if it gets him to talk to her - the words die unspoken as she gets a proper glimpse of the expression in his eyes for the first time.

His eyes suddenly seem _huge_; his pupils dilated so much that they seem to have subsumed his irises completely. She has never seen him looking like this before, especially not at her; if she didn't know better (and she's not entirely sure she doesn't), she would say he was looking distinctly turned-on. _There's something of the wolf about him_. The thought seems to come from the æther but as soon as she is aware of it the wry thought immediately follows that the description is a distinctly apt one. _That_ thought is the last coherent one to register itself in her brain before her eyes lock with his and the two of them drown in each others' gaze; it's more than either can manage to tear their eyes away as the tension between them, already potent, ratchets itself up further.

Rose is first to break, unable to stand the tension between them one moment longer; her hand snakes up to cup The Doctor's cheek before disappearing up into his hair. The Doctor's eyes never leave hers but she sees them widen slightly in surprise at the contact before he lets them flutter closed; he at last concedes defeat, admitting to himself that his wanting this has finally, finally exceeded his willingness or ability to ignore it.

He leans in to her touch, simultaneously craving the sensation and being repelled by it - frightened about where his feelings for this woman could take him should he give them free reign. This all takes a matter of mere seconds and is done even before he realises he's doing it; the next thing he is fully aware of doing is closing the last, tiny, amount of space between them by the simple method of winding one arm around Rose's waist and pulling her flush against him. Having her so close to him that her body heat warms him makes part of his mind – the part that still thinks that this is a Very Bad Idea - start panicking. He's saved from making an utter pig's ear of the occasion by over-ruling it with the part of his mind that's thoroughly enjoying the feelings generated by Rose being so close to him that only layers of fabric separate his skin from hers. He wastes no further time on the thought that this mayn't be one of his wiser moves as his instincts begin to take over.

"Doct-"

Rose tries to speak, tries to make an attempt to verbalise the torrent of feeling she's now experiencing and in so doing ground herself and make the whole situation feel much less surreal, but The Doctor uses his other hand (the one that isn't holding her tightly against him and making her feel fantastic) to raise a finger to her lips.

"_Shh_. Don't."

He'd considered trying to deal with this in his usual nonchalant manner but some primeval instinct had told him that this would _not_ do. So his tone is low and seductive - just that little bit husky - and he sees the effect of it as it sends shivers up her spine. She still cannot manage to tear her eyes from his.

"_Rose_?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

His voice remains low but is shot through with the raw tenderness she has recently noticed tends to appear in his tone towards her whenever they are alone. She makes a whimpering noise in the back of her throat, not quite coherent enough to form words. His lips turn up slightly at the corners as he takes it as an answer, and continues speaking - and that tenderness filters through his tone even more strongly than before, this time partnered with an urgency which she doesn't, immediately at least, understand.

"Cassandra said you think this new body's 'foxy'. So - is that true?"


	2. When They Try To Talk

_"Cassandra said you think this new body's 'foxy'. So - is that true?"_

The minute the words leave his mouth he freezes for a second or two as he sees a hint of panic cross Rose's face. He should have known that they were the wrong words to choose. _So much for nixing the nonchalant approach_, he curses himself, _now she's going to think that you're not taking this, taking her, seriously and that's gonna cause no end of trouble. Try again, and this time try not to be such an arse about it._

He does not want (not after what he put her through during, and after, his latest regeneration) to be a source of any kind of fear, or pain, for this fantastic woman he loves so much. He feels her withdrawing from him, almost in fear of what he might think or say.

_Rassilon, Rose, I thought the two of us were close enough that you could tell me anything without fear of my laughing at you or thinking you stupid._

Not for the first time, he curses his previous self's intransigence on the subject of human "apes"; the man had his issues, fair enough, but he had thought he would have known better to transfer them on to Rose like that. It's just one of a number of things about his previous self that he is rapidly learning to dislike, if only because it created another barrier between them that he now has to break down.

Still, much as he loves turning things over in his head like this, it's not getting him any closer to where he wants - no, _needs_ - to be; instead of worrying about what someone who was gone and never coming back had been saying to Rose, time to worry about what _he_ is saying to her and how it is being received. He feels her start to withdraw the hand she still has in his hair and his mind screams against the loss of contact.

_I cannot let her go thinking that I don't feel anything for her; can't go back to the way things were before Cassandra. It would drive both of us entirely mad._

His mind barely processes the thought before his hand moves swiftly from Rose's face to her hand, capturing it before it manages to withdraw from his hair completely.

"_Rose_."

He wipes all hints of levity and nonchalance from his voice but the tenderness, and the sense of urgency, remain. (He's not about to make the same mistake a second time; for all his cockiness he's at least learnt that much from previous incarnations.) He is pleased to see that the panic has disappeared from her expression but not so happy at the sight of the almost wary look in her eyes that has replaced it. The next words come almost without conscious thought on his part.

"Rose, love, you're not _scared_ of me, are you?" She shakes her head, which is something at least, although the unidentifiable emotion that flickers across her expression at his semi-intentional use of the word 'love' excites him.

_Must not babble. Must not babble. Rassilon, will you not concentrate for once in your miserable existence?_

"No, 'm not scared of you. Should I be?"

She speaks the last words with wry amusement, and he is relieved to see that the wariness in her eyes is slowly disappearing. Time to capitalise on his advantage and press her, gently, for the information he so badly wants to know.

"I couldn't possibly comment, Rose," he chuckles briefly before becoming serious again. "Now - you know you can trust me, that I'd never do anything to hurt you if there were any possible way to prevent it?"

She nods.

"Of course I trust you. I'd have told you to leave me behind on Earth if I didn't" (_you don't - and never will - know how close I came to doing exactly that_, she thinks).

"Then talk to me, my rosey Rose. You can tell me anything, anything at all," he releases the hand holding hers in his hair and moves it to cup her cheek, "absolutely _anything_, and I'll listen."

_Talk to me, my love; please, please, talk to me. I love you, have been in love with you for what seems like for ever, and I _need_ to know where I stand with you. Tell me I didn't imagine what Cassandra said, that you have feelings for me similar to those I've had for you for such a long time now; that the kiss you gave me when she was in your mind actually meant something to you. Please? Before this sends us both mad?_

"Doctor?"

_Here goes nothing_, she thinks;_ time to call him on this "you can tell me anything" crap he's pulling, and find out just how truthful he's being with me._

"Yes, Rose?"

He feels her hand moving from the side of his head to the back of it and tries not to react to it or think about what she could be meaning to do next. He wants her to kiss him, wants it _badly_, but he cannot afford to entertain the notion if all he's going to be is disappointed.

"I've wanted to do this for bloody ages," she muses, ignoring his slightly confused expression, "and I am _so mad_ at Cassandra that she managed to get there first."

He is now _definitely_ confused, and starts to say so.

He's cut off before he can start speaking by Rose pulling his head down towards her to kiss him, gently, on the lips - as different a kiss to Cassandra's as it was possible to be and still be a kiss. He feels her nervousness and pre-empts her pulling away by moving a hand from her cheek to the back of her head and beginning to kiss her back.

He uses his tongue to lick his way along her lower lip, not assuming anything but asking for entrance; she parts her lips slightly and he takes this as assent and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth ...

... and what is, after all, a (comparatively) chaste kiss metamorphoses into its precise opposite as each of them use their tongues, teeth, lips, just about everything to try to impart to the other that yes, _yes_, there is something between them, something deeply felt and positively wonderful, that the word "friend" could never begin to encompass.

_Finally, finally, finally; she's not the only one who's wanted to do this for ages (not that I'm going to tell **her** that). Rassilon, though, I could get **used** to this._

She breaks from the kiss first, gasping for breath and looking decidedly pink; he reluctantly squashes his first impulse to make a nonchalant comment about how proud he is to have been the one to do that to her.

"Rose?"

He practically growls at her.

"Doctor?"


End file.
